"I observe the physician with the same diligence as he the disease." ~ John Donne
I was on vacation last week, so I spent the bulk of it trying to learn as much as possible about breast cancer. I determined that the type I have accounts for only one to two percent of breast cancer diagnoses. It is invasive, but doesn't tend to metastasize. It grows slowly. I also have some pre-cancerous tissue, but I'm not any clearer about that than I was at the beginning of last week.
I decided to try to get treatment at one of the best cancer treatment facilities in the country. As soon as I made that decision, I started to wonder why I thought my situation warranted it. Even though I banished the thought, it's continued to nag at me from time to time. I guess the fact that it's a fairly rare form of breast cancer was a huge deciding factor. I think that if my dad had gotten better treatment of his prostate cancer at the beginning, maybe he'd still be alive now. (Well, maybe not.) The surgeon who did the stereotactic biopsy told me he felt "comfortable" performing the surgery and that he'd be happy to refer me to an oncologist. He said the oncologist would only be able to hazard a guess about treatment until the surgery was performed. Ditto with the radiologist.
While he talked to me about my diagnosis and the options, he kept checking his pager every 5 seconds. The entire lecture (it was most assuredly not a conversation) lasted about five minutes. You know, when you're going to tell someone they have breast cancer and need to have surgery, it might be good to clear your schedule a bit. He asked me if I had any questions, but I was still trying to process the meaning of the diagnosis even after he left the room. Breast cancer. You have to let it sink in a bit, because the brain shuts down temporarily. His nurse came in a couple of seconds after he left. She was obviously concerned about my state of mind and reminded me that many women survive breast cancer now. She offered to talk with me if I needed to talk.
I didn't need to talk because I was too dazed. I went to the surgeon's office by myself, because I wasn't all that concerned about the results of the stereotactic mammogram. I don't suppose it really mattered because, whether or not I had someone with me, I would have been alone, anyway. By the time I walked out of the clinic door into the parking lot, my life had already permanently changed. It's one of the few moments in life when there's a little click in your head and you know, without a doubt, nothing will ever be the same. That's about all that I knew, but that was enough. And I knew I was alone.
All in all, the surgeon didn't inspire a lot of confidence in me. Even if I could be certain he would be a competent surgeon, the five minute lecture didn't bode well for our relationship. I'm not fond of male doctors, especially those who lecture me instead of actually engaging with me as a human being. I am not just a piece of meat that you're going to cut on, buddy.
He told me that I need to make a decision about the surgery soon. He gave me four weeks to come up with a plan. I decided almost immediately that I don't want him to do the surgery.
Aside from the rarity of the type of cancer, the other issue that is very troubling is the the lymph node biopsy, which will be performed at the same time as the cancerous tissue is removed. I've learned that there are far-reaching ramifications if it isn't performed properly. Having an experienced surgeon doesn't guarantee anything, but at least I'll have a better chance of success.
I got considerably more anxious as I attempted to set up appointments and get my medical information ready for M.D. Anderson. My therapist keeps telling me to just take some Xanax. Actually, so does my psychiatrist. Sometimes I take it, sometimes I just try to manage it through conscious breathing. I've started doing yoga more instead of my usual aerobics and weight training.
My hubby cries from time to time. I am as comforting as I can manage at any given time. He started crying last week and I suddenly started wondering if he knew something about my cancer that I don't know. Well of course he doesn't. In the early stages of assimilating the information about my disease, I'm a little paranoid because I'm very frightened.
Cancer is a participatory event, I've found. Everyone who knows about it wants to offer advice or they just really, really want to talk about it. I'm mindful of their caring, but sometimes I don't want to talk about it. I don't need anyone's advice...unless they've had breast cancer, too. They want to cheer me up. All of that is just exhausting. I have to deal with my own ongoing anxiety, verging on panic. I have to summon the energy, concentration and organizational skills needed just to get me through the preliminary steps of arranging for medical care.I don't have any extra energy to engage with everyone who wishes to talk with me about it.
To top it all off, my huskie, Miss Woo, has been terrified for three days now because of fireworks going off in my neighborhood. (We haven't had any rain for 29 days now and the temperature has been hovering in the upper 90's. These people are lunatics.) She's been keeping me awake every night and the lack of sleep isn't doing much good for my emotional stability.
Tonight I hope to do some yoga and get a full night's sleep. We'll see....
